Poemsby William Blake

The Human Abstract

A Poison Tree

Infant Sorrow

 
 My mother groaned, my father wept:
 Into the dangerous world I leapt,
 Helpless, naked, piping loud,
 Like a fiend hid in a cloud.

 
 Struggling in my father's hands,
 Striving against my swaddling-bands,
 Bound and weary, I thought best
 To sulk upon my mother's breast.

Contents

The Human Abstract

A Poison Tree